


Knitting Needles

by TotallyARealPerson



Series: Star Trek Fic Dump [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: M/M, Moving In Together, Season 5 Episode 16: Ethics, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotallyARealPerson/pseuds/TotallyARealPerson
Summary: Riker moves in with Worf after s5e16 while he's in the middle of recovery. Worf doesn't argue. And now they're an old married couple....Help?
Relationships: William Riker/Worf
Series: Star Trek Fic Dump [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717804
Comments: 13
Kudos: 41





	Knitting Needles

"Worf would not have asked this of you if he didn't know you couldn't deliver," Jean-Luc said.

Riker exhaled softly. "And that just leaves me back where I started. I can't do this, Captain."

"I know you don't want Worf to die-"

"It's not _just_ that," Riker sighed. "... But it's hardly something I can discuss with you. You'd have to put it on a report, and I can't have it getting back to Starfleet." He scratched the back of his head. "I'd better talk with Worf."

~?~

Riker stared at the knife, which stared at Worf, who stared at Riker, who held the knife.

"Worf, look," Riker started slowly. The Klingon shifted. "I've battled with depression and suicide at different points in my life. I know there's no describing that sense of _hopelessness_ -" and Worf jolted, because that was EXACTLY the word, "that festers in your brain. I still take antidepressants, and I go to Deanna for therapy, but that just doesn't work for people so determined to try to kill themselves. I tried over thirteen times, and none of it got me anywhere. All this to say, I know what you're feeling if not exactly what you're going through."

"Commander-"

"I don't want to have to bury another of my best friends, Worf," Riker's knuckles became white as he held the knife tightly. They suddenly slacked as Riker contemplated his palm - the pressure against the serrated edge had sprung up tiny cuts on his skin. "I've done too much of that," he whispered as he watched his blood creep across the lines in his palm. "I don't blame you for wanting to kill yourself. But I also know too much of your cultural traditions to be able to honor this request."

Worf tensed.

"Yee _eeeea_ h," Riker drawled like he always did when he was uncomfortable. "I know. You don't want to tell Alexander he has a role to play in your suicide. He's not really going to understand your need for this. Even an adult would have trouble with this. Except he isn't an adult, or even a warrior, and he's been mostly divorced from his traditions and culture from being raised on an alien ship by a father who was raised by aliens, so none of this will make sense in the slightest even if you explain it as carefully as possible, and he'll go through the same loss he went through for his mother, only the murderer is him. Even Deanna might not be up to that."

Worf turned his eyes towards the wall. He tried counting the scratches again. "I cannot ask him to do this for me," he tried. "I will not look him in the eye and ask him to hand me the dagger-"

"-so you can stick it in your heart, pull it back out, and wipe the blade clean on his sleeve," Riker recited monotonously. Almost a mimicry, he wiped his injured hand against his opposite elbow. He sighed and set the knife down where Worf wouldn't be able to reach it, and sat in the chair next to him. "Worf, I've always seen tradition as peer pressure from dead people, and therefore capable of being disregarded entirely. It's up to you to view tradition however you like, but your son isn't going to understand, and the people who love you and care about you will never forgive either of us. Least of all your son."

"You-"

" _Do not understand_?" Riker finished, eyes going cold, colder than any other gaze in Worf's direction. It was the gaze that he used to reprimand officers who'd MAJORLY screwed up, the look that said 'I'll give you thirty seconds to think over what you just did, apologize, and grovel, and if you don't, you're being demoted back to ensign or I'm going to make your job ten thousand times harder and you're going to wish you'd gone into botany'. Deanna had gotten her fair share of patients from that look, sure their careers were ending.

"That is not what I was going to say," Worf said. "You understand, so I do not understand why you are not complying."

"Because your suicide won't just affect you," Riker said dangerously. "It's going to affect Alexander in ways you can't even imagine even if it isn't him who does this. It's going to majorly fuck with my mental state, even if I'm not the one who does this. You have people who love you and care about you all around you, and if you're blind to that, then you have the visual range of a sonar-deficient bat." The Commander stood up and got the knife from where he'd set it down, twirling it, contemplating the balance. "In my experience, people tell me I have a lot to live for whenever I go though my episodes. I never do; no parent, no sibling, no lover, no child, and I sometimes doubt about my friends. But you have someone who you're caring for on a personal level, and if you're not willing to look him in the eye and explain why you feel the need to kill yourself because of a tradition he doesn't know, I can't give you the knife."

"And if I do?" Worf challenged. _Please don't make me,_ he didn't say.

"It's still be your son you're wiping the blood off on, metaphorically or not," Riker said cuttingly, and left, knife still out of Worf's reach on his ankles.

The Klingon didn't even bother trying to reach for it.

~?~

"I have decided to live, Alexander."

~?~

Comm- William, in a show of support, kept his jacket around his waist while helping Worf through physical therapy while they weren't on duty. It showed very plainly the deep, pale scars on his forearms. In an effort to hide them from Beverly and Deanna, keep the man's privacy as it was, he often gripped Will's elbows, hiding the scars with his own forearms.

After a few weeks, Worf could walk on his own. He still used a cane on his bad days, but his calisthenics was one of his better studies, and he eventually got rid of the cane too.

Worf didn't really notice, but eventually Will became a part of his house. He often helped with Alexander, got meals ready, put away the dishes, massaged his legs when they cramped, and ended up sleeping in Worf's bed at some points. Worf was oblivious to how that last one came to occur, just that he would often wake with Will curled around him.

And he would always hum while he worked. A gentle tune. He sometimes danced to the beat. That was nice.

Will's book collection gradually infiltrated his quarters. In alphabetical order. "Oh, I just happen to like reading the paperbacks." _Anatomy of Motive_ was the first, which he read quite a bit. Upside-down. While listening to 21st century rock music. Or just dancing around the house and humming, still. The odd tune was an ear worm - an old lullaby Riker's mother used to sing him. Then came _Meditations on Violence_ , which somehow became a bedtime story about honor, and then _What Cops Know_ , _Pure Cop_ , something-something _Survival signals that protect us from violence_ , and other books he'd picked up at the Academy and had still kept and replaced as they got buried in twisted bulkheads, blown up, or burned.

Why did he not seem to mind Will's presence in his life? The books in his shelves, the trombone in his living room, the knickknacks covering his table top, the balls of yarn he used to finger knit - they were all distinctly not his or Alexander's. He did not even permit Deanna to enter his quarters without permission, and was often uncomfortable around her, but Will absentmindedly entered the code for their living quarters, and finger-knitted without care on Worf's couch while Alexander leaned into his side and asked a few questions about homework.

His scent was all over the house. Chocolate and cherries stuck to the walls, his books, his bed sheets, the couch. Alexander really liked it, and inhaled deeply when he was picked up or they were cuddling for precisely that reason. He smelled like the way his smile felt. But not his touch. His touch felt like glass-feathers and sunshine. Cold, hard, firm, but warm, gentle, and something precious.

He was a good secondary parent for Alexander.

Worf jolted when the thought occurred to him. Somehow, it never clicked before now. Even as Will was patiently teaching Alexander how to knit using his fingers (an effective fail-safe against his constant jitteriness) while simultaneously teaching him a trick about maths he'd picked up as a child, and Worf was quietly drinking prune juice and going over the month's duty roster, and they'd all felt the overwhelming silence that threatened to suffocate them when Will was gone and his absence weighed heavily on Alexander and Worf, somehow Will had never slotted into the role of Alexander's other parent.

William, ever the perceptive man, noticed his discomfort immediately. He picked up a pair of headphones adapted for a Klingon's skull, and suggested Alexander play something on his tablet while he and Worf talked.

"Is it serious?" the boy asked, a bit worried even as he plugged the headphones into his tablet.

"I don't know. I'll let you know if it is," Will said softly. "Run along, Alex. Put on your music and shut the door."

Once the little boy was out of the room, Riker got up and sat on the back of Worf's chair, brushing his hair to one side so he wouldn't sit on it. "Are you okay?" Will asked, one of his socked feet resting just to the left of his wrist.

"I am quite alright, William," Worf answered, rising to his feet. "I believe I would, however, appreciate some time alone."

"Alright." Will collected his boots and the completed roster padd. He was back to being Commander Riker as he shrugged on his jacket, instead of the Will who ate dinner with Worf and his son. "I'll be back tomorrow. Don't let Alex worry, tell him it isn't serious, and that I've just gone to my quarters for the night. I'll help him with the decimals tomorrow."

"Good night, Commander," Worf said diligently.

"Good night, Lieutenant," Will answered in reply.

~?~

When there was a lull, Will was anxious, and that was never good. If he got anxious, he usually started asking for status updates every five minutes, which wasn't conducive to a relaxed environment. So he often played with his fingers, or twiddled. At times, he even walked in circles, until he was told he was making the Conn officer dizzy.

To avoid distracting everyone by simply walking everywhere and making a mess of everyone's concentration, he knitted quite a bit. Since the sound of needles also distracted, he'd learned early on to use his fingers, and remove the stitches as was needed.

He still payed attention to everything around him. If there was something he was missing, someone would fill him in. Otherwise, when he kept the bridge, he mostly asked for status reports, directed, and knitted. There were scarves and mittens, and everything else in his quarters. He'd even somehow weaved them together to make a blanket with a single thread of wool - unusually soft, and something William adored sleeping in.

Worf was still rather confused as to why it was in his room, as a comforter. He'd accepted Will into the role of co-parent, but as to why Will slept in his room now more often than not were still confusing to him.

Perhaps he should ask.

~?~

He ended up not asking.

But when Riker started spending almost every night in Worf's quarters, and his trombone had its own stand in the corner while his musical sheets were hidden under the couch cushions, Worf knew the Commander had practically moved in and there was no stopping it. Kicking him out now, after so much time of him slowly moving in and Worf not protesting would just be weird.

~?~

During the incident in which he jumped from parallel universe to parallel universe, he and William somehow got closer during each jump. They were married in most universes, though in others, Riker was dead. They'd been married, and then Will died in some universes. Those ones were never pretty.

So he asked Data about it.

"You and Commander Riker became romantically involved shortly after Ambassador K'Ehleyr's death. I am not privy to the exact details of your coupling. You were engaged for several months and could not pick a date due to conflicting schedules. Upon request, the Captain picked the date for you and performed the ceremony six hours later. Commander La Forge described it as 'slapdash', but later confessed he liked the way your counterpart's hair was arranged with purple tiger lilies and vanilla flowers, and how you both were dressed in crimson drapery and gold jewelry."

Worf hummed.

"I believe I have determined the cause of your shifting through quantum realities," Data said, rising from his console. "Are you ready to go back to your proper universe?"

"I am," Worf said immediately.

He'd been in this universe since Geordi's VISOR was turned on yesterday. Crusher had ordered him to get some rest in his quarters last night, and it seemed so... empty without Will's things. He missed the odd knitted things, and the knickknacks, and books.

He listened to the instructions, and got in _Fermi_ once he knew what to do.

He woke up on the runabout on Stardate 47391.2, returning from the _bat'leth_ competition on Forcas III, with the title 'Champion Standing'.

"I remember having a surprise party," he said when he got back to his quarters.

"Maybe in some other universe," Will said with a smile, "but I knew you'd hate it, so I decided not to. What's for dinner?"

"Gagh, and then champagne. And marble cake."

"You know me too well."

~#~

Riker reached hesitantly to the plates in the middle of the table, nursing his fresh water. Worf was in a bad mood, and if he got in between what the large Klingon knew to be his, he might get his hand bitten off. So the crab legs were obviously fine, and Riker took quite a few, breaking the shells with methodical precision.

"Could I have a pitcher of water, please?" Riker asked. The server nodded, and Worf watched every muscle move as another hand deposited a bowl of food between him and Will.

"You okay?" Riker asked. "It seems like you're in a bad mood."

"I cannot find the mistake with the torpedo guidance system," Worf growled. "The experiment went wrong. It was my fault!"

"You're right, it was," Riker said slowly, jolting when Worf gave him an odd look. "But that's fine. There are a lot of times when it's best to have a beta-reader so they can catch the mistakes you might've missed when you've been staring at it for too long." He picked the crab meat out of the shell and slurped it, while Worf picked up a squid leg and chomped down like it were a carrot. "You've been working at it nonstop for a few weeks. Maybe you should take a few days, and then go over it again when your mind's fresh."

"Perhaps you are right," Worf said tensely. He slammed down the tentacle and Riker jolted in surprise. "If you will excuse me!"

Will watched as Worf retreated. "I didn't mean right now," he mumbled, taking Worf's plate and setting it down in front of him. "No sense wasting food," he muttered.

The pitcher of water was set down, and Riker just kinda looked at it, wondering whether he should actually use the glass.

~?~

Riker knew he couldn't take some leave time, even if he wanted to and he couldn't concentrate for more than a few minutes. The _Enterprise_ was in a state of emergency, and he needed to keep his calm and project a façade of being in complete control, even if he wasn't. His shipmates needed to be calm and in control.

It was that night, when Riker was staring at his musical pages like he couldn't read them anymore, than Worf crept up to Riker. The de-evolving prey met the eyes of the de-evolving apex predator, and Riker didn't even get five meters away before Worf grabbed his arm and bit the side of his face hard enough to leave a deep bite mark. Riker yelped and kicked him off, clutching his face.

Worf licked Riker's blood off his lips, and growled slightly at the texture of the hair. Riker, however, pulled away his hand and glared at the offending blood covering his palm.

"Perhaps we should go to sickbay," Worf heard himself say, staring at Will's palm. It didn't sound like his own voice.

"Per-maybe-haps," Riker agreed faintly.

~?~

"Here. you'll be alright."

Riker held back the hand. The pain was an odd focal point - he could concentrate a bit better, but his brain was still stuck in the same fog. "Can you do anything about my… focusing problems?"

"No."

"Then I'm needed... on the... bridge. Call me back when you can..." he waved his hand like the proper expression was on the tip of his tongue, "do the thing."

~?~

They moved, and they wore same-as-him in black, but didn't look-like-him, and there was a chest-like-him, and a chest-not-like-him with eyes-like-sun-on-soft-day. They were-not-there, but now there-they-were. He watched them closely - they made noises to each other that he couldn't understand. They might be talking about hurt-him or predator-eat-him-like. His head darted for something to defend himself with, like a stick-with-point. The one in black-and-red-like-him started making noises. Riker only understood his name. He leapt on colour-like-him and they struggled so color-like-him couldn't eat him, but he'd forgotten about eyes-like-sun. Eyes-like-sun shot light-hot-burn at Riker, and Riker didn't know anything more.

Really he woke up a few more times, but black-and-red and eyes-like-sun hadn't eaten him yet. All his escape attempts were Not Okay and he had to stay. But they were still predators! He tried to leave lots more, until he tried attacking and eyes-like-sun put him to sleep.

That was, until he heard Mate outside the door. He started making lots of noise. Riker got up and crawled towards the door to Mate and tried undoing the door. There was lots of noise, and Mate banged lots and lots. Riker started getting scared, so he went out the other door.

He was tackled and he tried to push not-know-person off, until he heard Mate purring. Heavy-purry-thing got shot with light-hot-burn thing by black-and-red, and fell on Riker, and Riker got out from Mate to jump at black-and-red. He didn't care how much he understood, but Mate had just been put to sleep (he was being still-like-dead), and if he couldn't know why, he would at least defend Mate from other predators.

Riker heard eyes-like-sun, and started attacking harder-more-pain-death, but he was put to sleep again too. The last thing he heard was black-and-red making noises again, sounding like hurt-prey-hunt, and then... nothing.

~#~

Riker still had the bite. It was hidden slightly under the hair of his beard, but he could feel the dents whenever he brushed his hair there.

He and Worf finally talked about Riker living in his quarters. It was mostly about space arrangements. Worf was rather spartan, with some Klingon artifacts, weapons, and the family crest. Alexander wasn't a material person, but he still had a fondness for technology and games on the PADDs and computers. Riker, however, could only have one book case, else the whole of their quarters have books all around. He likewise had to keep his knickknacks where he could find them and away from Worf's weapons, and the knitting could be kept under the furniture, but not elsewhere. Worf may be spartan, but he was orderly about everything in his quarters.

There was knitted wall art next to the house crest, of most of the 21st century pride flags - the variants, like the ace -romatic flags, were not present, only the bases. Will was quite proud of himself when he was done. Alexander fell in love with it, and did his homework under it a lot. Worf liked it well enough, but would have gotten rid of it were it not for the other two occupants of his house. Alex was incredibly inquisitive, and kept asking Will about specific flags.

He came out of the proverbial closet about three minutes after being explained demisexuality.

Alexander came home from school one day when Riker was rearranging his designated book shelf and Worf was snoring on the couch, asleep. They held each other's gazes for a bit, before Riker gestured to the bookshelf.

"Now, whaddaya think? Psychology, extraplanetary procedure, knitting and crochet patterns, music, and then fiction? Or just alphabetical?" Riker said, staring at the pile of books.

"I say you put the ones you read most on the bottom, cause then you know you don't need to read them for a while," Alex said, picking the books from the pile he'd seen Will fret over for the past few weeks, "and then fiction above that, 'cause you know them all by heart."

"I know all my books by heart," Will protested, "not just the fiction."

"Still," Alex said with a shrug. "Which are the ones you haven't read recently?"

Will hummed, picking out a few books and setting them at eye level. "These," Riker said, already seeing where Alex was going with this. "The ones I have to stand on my toes for can go here, since knitting patterns, music, and shipboard operations are pretty much the same."

Alex frowned, trying to understand. Finally, after wrestling with the concept, he could not find enough of a similarity between the three for such a comparison. "No, they're not!"

"They are to me," Riker retorted distractedly, ruffling through the books. "Next shelf."

"No, really, why are they the same?" Alex asked, handing Riker a stack of books. He took them, leaned them against his chest, and started shelving them again.

"They're all really fun," Riker said. "And also conducive to my sanity."

There were seven shelves total. They were all stuffed, positively packed with books. There was still a rather tall stack.

There was not enough space under Riker and Worf's bed. That was basically their linen closet. And also just closet in general. The carved-out spot where most people kept their clothing was reserved for Worf's collection of Klingon operas.

"Hey, Alex can I hide a few books under your bed?" he asked half-seriously.

"No."

"Why?"

"There's already too many balls of wool!"

"The gap in your wall?"

"Knitting needles. Crochet needles. Of all sizes."

"Oh... Right. What about your dresser?"

"I need room for my clothes!"

"Closet?"

"No!" Alexander laughed.

Riker's cheeks puffed up. "Spoilsport," he said fondly.

"You're so weird!" Alex playfully punched Will's arm.

"I know!" Riker smiled, ruffling his hair.

Worf let out a particularly loud snort, and then jolted awake. He stared at the practically overflowing book case, and the somewhat large stack of books on the coffee table. He got to his feet, and started reorganizing. Some of the book covers did not survive unharmed, but they all fit.

When Worf went to his room to continue his nap in peace, Will and Worf withdrew their stacks from behind their backs, and started meticulously organizing the music to make room for the books. (Worf would know immediately, but that's wasn't the point, dammit!)

~?~

There were danger nights, when Worf could barely move his legs past his knees. Riker's quiet support and brushes of fingers against his toes, slowly bringing back sensation, quietly amazed him.

And then he was always dragged to therapy he next day, which set his face in a permanent scowl.

The therapy was usually either Worf alone, Worf with Alexander, or Alexander alone. Alexander was sometimes rather confused as to why Riker didn't come too, as he was DEFINITELY part of the family, to which Worf could only shrug. Riker was a huge influence in bringing him back from the brink. He wasn't quite sure as to the reason of his Commander's exclusion either.

"Tell me about your interpersonal relationships," Deanna said.

Now he remembered why.

Worf was never comfortable talking about... intimate relationships he had with other people. Riker was something of excessively comfortable with it, though, but never violated Worf's privacy in a way he knew K'Ehleyr did, as she was prone to gossip and the females of that old assignment ship sometimes blushed when they stared at him. If William did tell others about it, he only did so in a professional manner. Worf knew full well that Will had filed the paperwork to move out of his quarters and into Worf and Alexander's, and because of that Worf had gotten permission to move into bigger quarters (which he declined - no need to make more room when Will was just going to clutter up the area with more of his incredible joy and books and pinecones). Even quite some time before Will moved in, the most likely place to find him in his off-hours was in their quarters.

"Commander Riker is... not trivial." Which was more than he would usually admit to his son, much less to Riker. Even if they usually picked up on those things on their own, they were perceptive people. "He is important to me. He and Alexander enjoy each others' company." Also true. And also not something to be repeated outside this particular room.

"Oh?" Deanna asked with that quirked eyebrow. "I understand he moved into your quarters."

This was beginning to feel like an interrogation. "He is simply helping me with physical therapy," Worf lied.

~?~

"Ah!" William exclaimed softly when Worf entered their quarters. "Welcome back. What's for dinner tonight?" It was his turn to pick dinner, after all. And if he didn't have an idea, the dinner choice would go to Alexander, who ALWAYS wanted spaghetti. Worf was sick of spaghetti, and Riker was getting there. They usually had another option lined up before letting him pick, though. And otherwise, he could always get spaghetti at school during lunch break.

Worf pulled out a piece of paper from inside his jacket. "Guinan told me she had a friend whose second cousin three times removed made a wonderful _rokeg_ blood pie recipe. I thought we might try it."

Riker jumped to his feet. "Sound lovely. And you're sure the blood will curdle into a good filling?"

Worf shrugged. "I've looked over the ingredients. It looks fairly consistent."

"Wonderful," Riker smiled. "Computer, what is the time?"

**1637 hours, ship's standard time.**

"My shift begins at 1900," Worf said.

"I know. I'll watch after Alex while you're gone, even though he can take care of himself for a few hours without adult supervision since he's already eleven, ya paranoid overprotective father," Riker said fondly, and chuckled at Worf's frown. "Let's eat."

**Author's Note:**

> This is incomplete. But I'm never going to finish it, so that's okay!


End file.
